The Doe
by arcticberry
Summary: Hermione is down on her luck when she accepts a home with Minerva, the town witch. She learns the arts of plantlore and midwifery living in the forest until she encounters the hunter prince. DRAMIONE mostly non-magical AU, DM/HG, first-fic, Rated M for language and smut in future chapters
1. An Apple

A/N: New to writing and had this stuck in my head, please be gentle. Disclaimer: I obviously own none of the rights to the Harry Potter universe or the cover image. The plot is mine but based on a song I heard recently.

* * *

"Stop, thief!"

 _Run – faster, faste-_

A single misstep and I nearly fall face first into the cobblestone street. Instead a hand clamps around my shoulder yanking me backwards and into my captors arms.

"Got ya, ya fithy bitch!" Panic begins to set in as I peer up into the rat face of the stall owner, he's wheezing slightly and his sagging belly jiggles with the extra effort of the chase and he clutches at me. He lunges towards the withered apple in my hands. I try to wriggle from his grasp and we each struggle to get the upper hand.

"Stop this instant and unhand the child!" An authoritative voice calls from the surrounding throng of onlookers. An older woman pushes through the crowd and pulls back her hood. Murmurs come from the crowd and some step away with pinched uneasy faces.

"What is she accused of?" the woman darts a glance at me. Stringy hair, unwashed face, there isn't much to see. I flush under her attention.

"Little witc- … bitch!" The shopkeep eyes bulge as he realizes his mistake. "No disrespect Minerva," he rushes to explain. "She stole an apple from my cart!" he blusters.

Minerva clicks her tongue. "I'd hardly call that an apple Julius. Poor withered thing." Her gaze darts back to me, another assessing moment. "You tried to pay me in those apples the last time your Marta had her chest cold. And that was months ago. Consider this my payment." Her hands clasps onto my other shoulder and she begins to lead me out of his clutches.

"But - !" Julius is at a loss – he is an upstanding citizen! Some in the crowd nod at Minerva and begin to shuffle off. He is a known spend-thrift and penny pincher.

"Remember this Julius, when you need my care and poultices in the future." Minerva gives him a gimlet stare and pulls me further towards her and away from his slackened grip.

Julius pulls himself together with a huff. "Next time I see ya thieving, I'll take a hand as payment!" He scoffs into my face recognizing a losing battle. With one more bluster he heads back to his unattended stall and pushes through the last of the onlookers.

The crowd has returned to their gossip as the morning market only affords so much time to gather and trade in secrets as well as goods. While some continue to glance back at us whispering behind then hands.

"You're the forest crone." I stutter in a burst of emboldened speech. I notice quickly that we are near the edge of the market and thus close to the forest. Completely alone.


	2. The Clearing

A/N: New to writing and had this stuck in my head, please be gentle. Disclaimer: I obviously own none of the rights to the Harry Potter universe or the cover image. The plot is mine but based on a song I heard recently.

* * *

Minerva is now a couple steps away, she dips at the waist and gathers her basket and turns back towards me. She is more agile than I had given her credit.

I am frozen like a deer caught unaware in the forest as she steps back towards me.

"I prefer witch" she says with a quirk of her lips. Then simply: "Come."

I glance warily back towards the centre of town. I had left none of my meagre possessions back in the hayloft across town. If I had made it cleanly away with my apple I would have followed the road out of town and continued on my way.

"Or do you have somewhere else to stay?" she asks stepping towards the forest now.

I resolve that if she murders me in the forest no one will miss me. Perhaps the towns people will be cursed I muse. I plan on haunting them for eternity if this is the case. Everyone has returned to the market and I hear the sounds of them calling out their wares to the other townspeople.

"Nowhere." I reply, stepping after her where she has moved to the edge of the woods. She holds aside a large branch and reveals an animal track into the darkness of the forest.

Now or never.

We weave across trickling streams and climb steadily in the cool damp of the forest. The sun splits through the canopy and highlights the fluttering birds and other creatures of the forest. Minerva for all her apparent age, moves quickly up the stony path and surely forward.

My travels have been across fields and hills but nothing like this uphill ascent. I stumble forward, not as fit as I thought and unwilling to waste my breath on talking.

I freeze when Minerva holds a hand behind her and becomes a statue. She ducks quickly into a crouch and I do the same. We have come to a plateau and the trees clear slightly just ahead.

I notice then that the forest animals have become quiet and a strange rumbling disturbs the peace. Suddenly, a stag bursts from the edge of our clearing, his breath fogs out of his frothing mouth. He stands for a split second and looks directly at us before the baying of hounds becomes clear in the distance – in a breath he is gone. Dashing off and quickly absorbed back into the landscape.

Minerva has not moved and I follow her example and remain crouched on the forest floor.

The hounds are not shy, baying their joy and bloodlust into the air. They pour like a wave from the forest into the clearing. A mass of milky brown coats and slobbering snouts they mill around the clearing and then dash after the stag. Gone in a heartbeat but not alone.

The men are just as bloodthirsty and arrive on horseback trumpeting their own excitement and moving quickly towards their prey.

A single smaller rider stands out, he laughs jubilantly from his seat on horseback and leads the charge after the hounds and stag. In a glance I can see clearly that he is better dressed, wearing a deep blue coat different from the russet of the hunting party.

And then we are alone again and Minerva slowly moves back into action and begins back on our journey with little explanation. We continue the trek and after what seems like ages we step around a bend and are at once inside another clearing.

Minerva moves to one side clucking cheerfully at the hens who are scattered about. My breath stops as I turn and see the view out beyond her small cabin. The rolling hills of the country stretch endlessly until the horizon. A patchwork of fall colours and a castle nestled on the horizon.

"Was that…?" I begin.

"A royal hunting party." Minerva finishes for me.

"I didn't realise that it was permitted to live on crown lands." Years of ingrained social rules and understanding rears its head inside my mind.

"Neither is stealing" she replies slyly and I colour in embarrassment.

She ducks under the lintel of the door and disappears from sight. I follow her and stop dead when a furred beast moves threateningly towards me with an unwelcome rumble in its throat. Its fangs gleam above a jowly snout.


	3. A Beginning

A/N: Just writing while I'm inspired, no promises about the timeline or length of this.

Disclaimer: I obviously own none of the rights to the Harry Potter universe or the cover image. The plot is mine but based on a song I heard recently.

* * *

"Stop Fang."

The beast moves quickly with a wiggle toward his mistress. His protective duty completed he rolls exposing his soft pink underbelly and substantial bollocks.

"He's really a big baby" she provides, rubbing thoroughly at the exposed belly. He shuffles back towards a cluster of blankets in the corner and settles with a 'whumpf' onto his throne gazing balefully back at me.

"So, tell me what's your story?"

She putters around the cabin putting away her market goods and sets a kettle over the simmering fire. She prods the fire back into life adding a couple smalls logs and begins gathering dried herbs from the rafters overhead, dropping a handful into the pot before replacing the lid. She glances back towards me invitingly when I fail to answer. I stay unmoving in the doorway.

"Orphaned." I reply stiffly. She may have saved my skin but I refuse to give more than necessary.

The corner of her mouth falls and the stilted conversation continues.

"Name?"

"Hermione."

.

.

"Age?"

"Ten and three quarters."

.

.

"Have you bled?"

"…"

"I'll take that as a no."

.

.

"Have you a place to stay?"

"…"

"Also a no."

.

.

"Well Hermione, I am getting older. A crone, if you will." She pauses with mirth in her eyes as she finally settles to look at me full on. "I have need of assistance and I get lonely now and again. Fang isn't the best conversationalist."

I let this settle in.

"If you have a trade then I would be happy to help continue that learning. If you take an interest in the healing arts I will also teach you how to live off the land."

This I can get behind. I am skin and bones from my travel. A knotted nest of curls and overgrown nails. My clothes alternate between hanging off my slim shoulders and gathering tightly in places where I have outgrown my britches. I had lost track of how long I've been on the road, stealing clothes from laundry lines and eating food from fields and orchards as I pass through. Winter is coming though, I had felt the stirrings and the icy hand of the mornings curling into my hiding places and chilling me to the core. The harvests had begun so food would soon be stored away and less plentiful for a passerby.

Life was a struggle.

I had learned this lesson after they had… I stop my mind from its train of thought. This is not the time to rehash my recent struggles. I am safe and warm. A bowl of hearty stew appears beneath my nose and a mug of some herbal concoction is placed on the table nearest me.

"And your life?" I ask, pulled from the fog of remembering.

"I lead a simple life, I tend to the villagers when they come calling and I keep my own company here in the forest. It is not a rich lifestyle – if that is what you seek then you are welcome here as long as you wish. But if wealth is your goal then it is best that you move on."

After my months skirting other towns, seclusion sounds idyllic.

"I can read, and write, and I'm a quick study." I supply when it looks like she has been pulled into her own thoughts.

Father and mother had been unique in their quest to educate me, the other villagers had not seen the merit in educating a child, never mind a girl. As if I needed more reason to feel apart from our village. My father had run the accounts for the nearby estate. As a learned man he had helped me to learn my numbers and letters. My mother and I would sit around the hearth practicing together. She would read books borrowed from the masters estate, her warm presence patiently stumbling through the tales that became the backbone of my childhood.

My mother had devoted her life to me, her only surviving child.

My father had resigned himself to a life alone when my mother had moved to town to care for an ailing aunt. The aunt had not lived long but my parents recognized one another as kindred spirits though their love had never burned bright. Their affection endured and I can never recall their being outright unhappy. My father was older and my mother had never married, happier to care for family and earn her keep as an occasional servant. They took solace in one another after several miscarriages and they had settled into what they assumed would be a childless life.

I am disrupted by Minerva continuing to speak.

"They scorn me as a witch because I live outside their expectations and yet they come to me in their direst need. People always fear the unknown when really they should embrace the unexpected. But I enjoy my life apart from them." Minerva continues, heedless of my internal musings.

Her similar train of thought seals the deal.

My heart throbs and for the first time in forever I feel a renewed sense of purpose.

"Teach me," I insist. There is nothing left for me from my past life.

I will stay.

* * *

Happy to have so many visitors - please review if you're enjoying the story!


	4. The Dawn

A/N: Looking for suggestions on how DM/HG meet! Also fair warning I know nothing of childbirth apart from Call the Midwife...

Disclaimer: I obviously own none of the rights to the Harry Potter universe or the cover image, but the plot is mine

* * *

"PUSH!"

Marta grunts and strains, her body rigid with the effort of bringing this baby into the world.

"Once more Marta, breathe with me. We've made it through the worst." I encourage. Sweat gathers on my brow and the fine hair of my upper lip. Outward calm is ingrained and it is the only thing keeping my hands from trembling. We can do this.

Minerva is attentive, hovering nearby. This birth has been mine, though she advises and has been calmly moving around the room, gathering clean cloths and preparing a basin of warm water. She glances at me now, wordlessly conveying that we have come this far but we're not safe yet. Years of reading her expressions tell me how quickly this could get worse.

Marta has had a hard labour and she is fading fast. After several pregnancies years ago, I was surprised to learn she was expecting again. She and Julius were older but I suppose mother nature had no care for the wants or desires of couples. Marta's husband Julius has been banished from the room and their oldest daughter Trudy, has long since left, she could not stomach her mother's pain.

According to Minerva, none of Marta's previous pregnancies had been as hard as this. Thankfully the child is turned the right way but the pain is only increasing.

Now Marta is failing, her energy waning.

"PUSH! Again Marta!" Exhausted, she wails and keens. Twisting in the sweaty sheets, her hair is plastered to her forehead and Minerva appears with a cool cloth, looking back at me with a significant expression. We are quickly approaching very dangerous territory and both the mother and child will suffer more if this labour continues.

"Please Marta, be strong for your children … and for this child." I am at the bargaining stage. Hours of labour have worn us all down. When her waters broke in the night they sent their oldest child for Minerva and I, but Marta has been slow to progress and the child has been in distress for too long. Marta has laboured since yesterday and we are now well past the witching hour. The village is part of our resigned wakefulness, kept awake with the suspense of a long labour. The stillness of the night split by her cries.

I am beyond the comforting stage.

I reach for the blade and nod to Minerva, who braces herself across Marta's upper body as I apply a numbing oil to her vaginal opening.

"Marta we have to make a small incision to free the child. Marta stay with us! Marta?" She is nearly collapsed against the headboard and her eyelids flutter without understanding or acknowledgment.

I brace my arms and mutter a quick prayer.

"AHHHHH MOTHER OF – " Marta is suddenly alive again, her body springing from the bed and struggling in Minerva's grip as I cut down. Her muscles contract and she bears down as she returns to wakefulness.

"We're helping baby Marta. One more push, almost there!"

The child's head is clear of the birth canal but I can already see that the face is slightly blue under the mucus and other assorted fluids. We have to do this fast or the babe will not live.

I ease the child out and clamp the cord quickly cutting their physical connection and moving to the edge of the bed. Minerva moves quickly into the space I have left and works to stem the bleeding and have Marta deliver the afterbirth. Her needles are nearby for sewing up the incision and the herbal smell of healing balms can be detected under the bloody smell of the birthing chamber.

I check the baby quickly for apparent weakness or injury before leaning forward and placing my mouth over his nostrils. I suck the mucus and blockage from his nostrils and spit it into a bowl nearby and hook a finger into his mouth to clear any obstructions. His body hangs limply in my arms as I rub his chest softly trying to massage some air into his lungs. I blow another soft breath into his lungs now I've cleared his airways.

"Come on baby," I coax, "you're going to be okay. Please be okay."

He sputters. His face pinches together in the beginning of a wail.

"Yes … yes!" and then softer, "hello baby." His tiny fists clench and he really screams. A shrill sound I have never been so happy to hear. The blush of blood returns to his skin and his face goes beet red with the injustice of this rude delivery into the world.

I wipe him down briskly checking him over again with less speed and swaddle him tightly with a nearby blanket. I turn back to Minerva who is giving a small sip of alcohol laced water to Marta. She is stabilized and sitting primly in bed still looking exhausted but more awake.

"Here mama, here's your sweet baby." I hand the grizzling baby to his mother who pulls apart her shift and cuddles him to her breast.

"A good latch," Minerva says approvingly as the baby clamps onto the nipple and suckles greedily. "And a good appetite," she laughs softly.

A hard rap comes from the door. I open it slowly, letting a rush of cooler night air into the room, revealing a quaking Julius on the other side.

"And?" His face is harried but hopeful.

"A healthy child, and your wife will recover in time."

He looks expectantly into the room, clearly, I haven't given him the right information.

Marta spares her husband a look.

"You have a son," she supplies tiredly.

Julius exhales with relief. After four daughters he hadn't wanted to hope.

"A - a son! An heir to continue my hard work and to inherit!"

I roll my eyes at Minerva behind his back. All this effort and he is most interested in the childs gender.

The babies mouth hangs open in a milk stupor, finally sated and Minerva takes him gently from Marta and hands the baby over to Julius.

"Look at that strong chin!"

I take a moment to observe the baby, the same large forehead and pinched face as his father but he has a generous mouth and some soft auburn fuzz that might be hair like his mothers. Poor thing, there may be hope for him to grow into his features I suppose.

Julius moves towards his wife and drops a kiss to her forehead but only has eyes for the baby.

The aches and pains of a hard night begin to creep into my bones and I take the reprieve and step out of the room, skirting the hallway and quickly out of the home into the night air.

The dawn is only a suggestion along the horizon but I'm willing to accept this small sign. Another day that mother and the baby would live. I pull a small pipe from my pocket and light it quickly, inhaling the fumes and feeling the smoke fill my lungs.

"It will be your turn for children soon enough."

I cringe and take another fortifying lungful of smoke turning with resignation towards the voice.

Oh please, not him.

* * *

A/N: Still hashing this all out, but looking for suggestions on how DM/HG meet! A lake bathing scene has been suggested ;) Thoughts?


	5. Love or Lust

Disclaimer: I obviously own none of the rights to the Harry Potter universe or the cover image, but the plot is mine

Fair warning: Chapter 6 may contain triggers of a sexual nature!

* * *

Cormac swaggers forward from the darkness. He has no doubt stumbled out of the nearby tavern and village inn. A muffled shout and breaking pottery sound from behind the inn door. The town has been keeping awake to hear the announcement: birth or death. Or both.

Cormac's gaze is appraising and appreciative as it slithers over my body. I don't understand why.

I push the curling frizz out of my face, my braid long since falling apart. I am covered in my own drying sweat and realize it has been nearly a full day since I've changed my clothes. I smell like birth and blood and life. An altogether unpleasant combination.

It is time to purchase new clothes I reflect. At nearly sixteen, I have long outgrown the clothing from when I arrived. While Minerva has never failed to provide me with new clothes, I have been resistant to the older more feminine style of clothing that I feel pressure to adopt. Living in the forest has afforded me the shelter to wear what I prefer rather than what is socially accepted. Britches for trapping hares with Hagrid, our forest neighbour. Or an sturdy fabric apron for gathering apples and other flora.

Dresses are not a common part of my wardrobe but they are what I wear most often in town to avoid censure. Minerva and I already stretch the bounds of propriety living alone in the woods as we do.

But Cormac has noticed how my breasts strain against the fabric of my old dress. Time for a roomier outfit. That or avoid Cormac forever. I'd be pleased with both.

"You've blossomed." His honeyed tongue disgusts me.

"I don't need a man, or babies," I huff.

"But there is such pleasure in making them," he shoots back leering.

Doubtless he has used this line before. As a traveling merchant, I'd wager there are plenty of tiny Cormacs scattered across the kingdom.

I can see the appeal to a degree. Strong strapping shoulders and wide blue eyes with eyelashes any woman would envy.

He grabs his crotch and scratches idly through his britches. Spits thickly over his shoulder. Aaaaand I'm reminded why not.

Nevermind the fact that he has been panting after the inn-keeper's daughter, Lavender. I caught them humping behind the inn barn weeks ago when I had been sent to gather eggs as recompense for a medicinal order from the inn-keep. I don't know how far they've progressed but she's a conniving woman and I won't get in the way of her designs on him. No matter how much he disgusts me, she's clearly interested in him, or perhaps the life she thinks he can provide. Lavender has already entertained the attentions of the youngest Weasley boy. But perhaps she thinks she can do better.

Cormac is an only son and spends the spring and summer seasons travelling, buying, selling and doubtless impregnating the entire kingdom. He recently took up the trade from his father who left his own seed scattered far and wide. But the air has become chill and it is fall again. Cormac's unpleasant presence has returned to town for the final weeks of fall before subjecting us to his ways all winter long. I wonder if I should start calculating how long until I deliver his next bastard child in town.

He is not without charm and physical appeal but at nineteen he has more lust per square inch than sense. While I've been distracted in thought he has weaseled his way towards me and makes a move to grope my arse.

"Come now pet -" he begins.

Quick as lightning I have my small blade pressed against his throat. I do not suffer fools.

Cormac freezes, his breath a mist across my face as his eyes bulge comically.

"You will keep your slimy putrid hands to yourself – ser!" I hiss.

Cormac smiles cruelly, his eyes unfocused with drink.

"All the boys in town know you need a good fucking, up there in the woods with no one to warm yer bed."

I smirk, "I already have a man to warm my bed, he is by far a better hunter and kisser than you could ever be." I boast.

Speaking of my love, a shadow peels itself from the side of the house lumbering towards us.

I smile releasing Cormac and turning towards my protector.

"Fang!" I dip down and ruffle his wrinkly hide. He slobbers all over my face in welcome after giving Cormac a baleful glare. We've certainly come far from our first encounter!

Cormac losing interest, has stumbled some ways down the street back towards the inn and is taking a loud piss against the one of the stone walls. Charming.

I turn as Minerva slips out of the home behind me and into the night. She hands me my cloak and the basket containing our tools of the trade. I notice her take in Cormac's presence but she says nothing as I pull the thick wool around me, finally registering the morning chill.

Another burst of sound escapes the inn, and I turn to see Lavender silhouetted against the light. She has a jug of something propped on my hip and her dress is notably rumpled and even lower cut than min. She pins me with a momentary stare before turning towards the nearby Cormac. I miss their exchange but hear her titter at something he says. The low rumble of his voice lost to the beginning of birdsong.

.

* * *

.

"Come Hermione, the goats will need milking soon."

Minerva draws me away from the morning drama and we begin the long walk back to our homestead. We are a community of two bolstered by forest and farm animals.

We are nearly home when she pauses.

"I was nearly married once."

She does not stop to acknowledge the words but continues speaking as we walk.

"His name was… Magnus." The name is nearly a whisper on her lips. "He knew me, body and soul."

I am speechless with this revelation. Minerva seems older, but also ageless now that we have spent years together. I am convinced that she manifested in the forest and has no other origin story. Aside from our first few days, she has never pushed for more of my childhood story and the circumstances that brought me to her door.

We have arrived back at the cabin and she busies herself putting away the items from our night. I chew my lips nervously pulling the skin between by teeth when I find myself without words.

"I know you're of an age," she pauses "where men will begin to notice you and –"

"Minerva please – "

"You are a beautiful young woman Hermione. It is not a bad thing to be loved."

She steps around our communal table and takes my face in her hands. I stare deeply into her eyes, the crow's feet and laugh lines that I have loved for so long. Up close I notice that her brown hair is more silver than I remember. My parents are with me always but Minerva is the mother of my heart. Tears cling to my eyelashes and I struggle to articulate.

"Don't make me leave," I choke.

"Oh Hermione," she laughs, a puff of warm breath across my cheeks. "I would never make you do anything but … to love, and be loved …" she trails off and guides me towards her and presses her cool lips to my forehead leaving the rest unsaid.

"While I vowed to a live a life helping others, I was just wasting time. Hollow. And you, my unexpected child, are the light that broke through my self-imposed isolation. But I don't want to keep you from the possibility of young love."

"Minerva, … Cormac is nothing to me but a cad!"

She laughs again, gathering a milking pail and preparing to head back outside. I stumble along behind me.

"I'm glad he does not interest you. But I'm talking about love, not lust."

I _cannot_ believe we are having this discussion.

She pulls open the rickety gate to the small barn and the bleats of the nanny goats call a welcome. I sit myself on the small stool and gently coax one of the goats from her pen and begin to milk meditatively.

"You know the ways of men and women; how a child is conceived."

It's true, I have studied enough animal _interactions_ to know the mechanics. We practice some animal husbandry and the business of midwifery means I am perhaps more enlightened than other women my age.

"Minerva, before I – " this is new territory. Or old, as it concerns my past.

"When my parents died," my throat still tightens. "When they died I approached the master for work and he –" I shudder in remembering. The ghost of his hands, the unwelcome press of his slippery tongue.

* * *

Fair warning: Chapter 6 may contain triggers of a sexual nature!

A/N: I'm looking for suggestions on how DM/HG meet! A lake bathing scene has been suggested ;) Thoughts?


	6. The Past

Disclaimer: I obviously own none of the rights to the Harry Potter universe or the cover image, but the plot is mine

 **WARNING: This chapters contain triggers and non-consensual content! You have been warned!**

* * *

*flashback*

"Such a soft bald little cunt." A finger presses through my small clothes, grazing my sex. I am stunned as he man-handles me onto my back upon his desk and riffles under my skirts. His hands must have multiplied, they are everywhere and the sensory overload clogs my brain.

I am too shocked to move. I am wearing one of my mothers' old dresses, tailored for the occasion and I can't help thinking he might rip my clumsy stitches. I had worked so hard to be presentable. For what? This?

This cannot be happening. My brain refuses to process what is happening.

I am here because I will be thrown from the house – my parents' house – if I fail to pay our rent. And how would I pay rent without this post?

His sucking face moves towards mine. His moistened lips and clammy hands make me feel sick. I withhold the urge to vomit on his embroidered doublet.

"No, please," then stronger, "NO!"

He growls, a man used to getting what he wants.

"Lord Nott, please stop!" I writhe underneath him trying to get free. My brain has begun to work in starts and stops.

He continues to unbuckle the front of his britches, hindered now, by my fighting back.

"Stay still you little bitch! This is my right!"

I am fighting harder now, the reality of what he means to do sinking in. He's trying to pin my hands and grappling with his manhood beneath my skirts.

"I always knew you were a little cock tease. Just let me break you in and we can discuss further _work opportunities_." This last bit said with a sneer, repeating my innocent words back to me.

My parents are dead, victims of a whirlwind sickness. It had started with the older villagers, then the younger children until nearly everyone had succumbed. The Lord and his family has shut their gates, only the closest servants remaining barricaded inside.

And now the quarantine is over, so many lives snuffed out so quickly. The vomiting, the endless wave of shit. I remember my parents as husks of the people they once were. Bloodshot eyes and cracked lips. I have no other family. As a child I have few if any work prospects.

So I had come to the gates and asked to see the master. Surely they had need of servants. Many of their staff had perished. My mother never spoke frequently of the small jobs she completed for the mistress and father spent so much of his time teaching that I realise now he never mentions what type of master Lord Nott has been.

Work prospects.

Such a harmless proposition. But that is how Lord Nott understands what a girl, a child, has to offer. My body.

"Just stay still one fucking minute and I will rid you of your pesky maidenhead!"

He's sweating now with the exertion of pressing me down with one hand, the other intent near my hips and his. He is much older and trim, though unfit and slightly stooped. The frustrated wobble of his chin is mesmerising.

 _Focus Hermione, you don't have to give into this. FIGHT HIM!_

I reach blindly for purchase on the desk, motivated by my inner voice. Searching now for some way to defend myself.

And then, my hand grasps something. A letter opener.

I can feel the head of his manhood now and the slickness of his excitement against my inner thigh. His hips draw back and he moves to cover my mouth. I am surprised that no one has discovered us given the noise of our struggle so far, or perhaps the household knows to stay away.

I clench my eyes shut and aim wildly with as much force as I can muster.

"ARRRGHHH!" His roar is proof enough that my weapon finds purchase on his face. I can feel the give of his soft skin under my hand and the warm splash as his blood bursts onto my ruined dress.

"YOU'VE FUCKING CUT ME!"

My eyes pop open in surprise and see his body reeling away from me, his hands trying to stem the flow of gushing blood from his cheek. His left eye is completely obscured and the gaping wound on his face matches his soul. I can't help but feel vindicated when his pretty outfit begins to soak up the gore. Now both of our outfits are ruined.

I gather the torn parts of my dress hastily and flee out the door.

"YOU CAN'T RUN! I'LL FIND YOU AND DESTROY YOU! WHORE!"

I race past a startled maid and down the main flight of stairs. I have no time to find my way to the servants exit so I rush through the main doors, heaving against the solid wood.

Sweet escape.

*end flashback*

* * *

The rest of my escape is a blur. I left behind everything in my parent's home, there was nothing of financial value, I had already buried the two people that made our small cottage home.

Minerva is silent for a long time. Then setting aside the milk pail, she approaches me slowly, her footsteps soft against the packed earth and hay. She reaches for me slowly, giving me a chance to deny her, or move away.

I feel the gentle guidance of her hands as she leads me into her body. I choke down a sob and close the space between us, throwing myself into her body. She sways with the impact but stands firm.

She makes nonsensical noises and rubs my back softly, her shoulder absorbing the sound of my despair and letting some of this hurt release.

"There is no excuse for his behaviour and I cannot promise you will never encounter such brutality again."

I absorb these words quietly, still tucked into her side. My sniffles have quieted.

"But I will never let this injustice against you go unpunished. And if I ever encounter that man…" She trails off and I can feel the repressed rage in the rigidness of her spine.

I feel safe here in the center of the small world Minerva has created. The humid warmth of the small barn, the warm press of a bleating kid against my leg.

I will never be free of the weight of this man and what he tried to do to me. But I vow: it will never define me.

* * *

AN: Thanks for sticking with me - more coming soon hopefully!


	7. At Last

Disclaimer: I obviously own none of the rights to the Harry Potter universe or the cover image, but the plot is mine

AN: Finally they meet! Squeeeeee...

* * *

"Come quick!"

I am tucked under a favourite tree near the cabin, enjoying a peaceful afternoon, when the shout startles me from my peaceful reading. It is late afternoon and all my chores are finished. Minerva is gone, climbing to the top of the nearest peak to gather some alpine herbs for our stores.

"Miss!?" The voice rises in pitch. Panic and adrenaline are shot through the childish voice.

I stumble from my shady perch and see Lyanna, Lavender's younger sister, looking frantically around our small clearing.

"Here!" I call abandoning my spot and tucking the book away hurriedly. I move quickly towards her assessing for damage and anything amiss.

"There's been a hunting accident mistress!" Lyanna looks close to tears and she's wringing her hands in the tiny apron affixed to her waist. Her cheeks are flushed from the uphill climb and I can see the tear-tracks on her grubby face. Her fair curling hair is laden with twigs and her hazel eyes are wide with panic.

"The - there are men! At the inn! One of them is terrible hurt mistress!" Unburdened of her message she sags slightly.

"Let me gather my things and we can head back!" I dash inside doing the mental calculations for what might have gone wrong and begin grabbing items from various spots and cupboards. Guns, arrows, possible infection and fractured bones, there are too many possibilities for what we may be called to fix. Minerva will not be back for hours yet and she may choose to stop and sleep the night in the woods. It can be a treacherous climb downhill in the daylight and worse in the dimming light of evening.

Time is of the essence and I have most of what I could possibly need. No time to waste now!

I hurry outside the cabin and motion for Lyanna to follow me back into town. We rush through the familiar trail. Tripping occasionally in the dim light as the shadows begin to lengthen.

The last of the sun is disappearing over the back fields by the time we hurry into town and Lyanna grabs for my hand leading me towards the inn.

* * *

"MOTHER OF FUCK-!"

The shout is the first thing I hear as I rush into the back room. Lavender is white as a sheet as she opens the door and ushers me inside. The patrons in the front room are hushed and crowded around their drinks whispering amongst themselves.

The moment I step into the room several men turn to face me – all scruff and brightly coloured hunting garb. These men were nobles then, men from the village were drably dressed at best and would never dress-up for the common practice of hunting.

"Pull it together man!" This from a stern voice nearby.

"Should have stayed astride your horse." A snide voice adds from the corner.

I identify my patient quickly. He's draped over the kitchen table and swearing up a storm. I disregard his appearance and hone in on the injury. His thigh has been ripped open, the wound is jagged and fresh. The skin is torn but the blood has been reduced thanks to the applied pressure. It appears that whatever inflicted this injury missed the major artery. Thank goodness.

One of his companions takes a swig from the bottle and passes it to the man on the table who drinks deeply. I snag the bottle as it passes and press it into a clean cloth.

"Fuck you Malfoy – going after the beast was your idea! FUUUC-" His swearing is cut off in shock as I apply the alcohol to his open wound. I shoo away the nearest men and begin pulling items from my bag.

"Christ, how much have you got stashed in that bag? It's damn near bottomless!" My patient goggles at the bag.

I smother a smile and compile the items I'll be needing.

"This is going to hurt again, I need to cleanse the wound and check to make sure all the bleeding has been staunched." I've begun cutting away at the rest of his britches and prodding his leg to fully understand the damage.

The damage appears worse than it is and soon enough I am stitching his wound.

"Mother of creation!" He rears up from the table when I take the needle to his flesh. Despite the numbing agent the pain is still unpleasant.

"Please – stay still! You wouldn't want to tear any of the stitches and it will be over soon enough. Lie down!" I press a hand to his chest, pushing him to lay back on the table leaning over him again.

"I promise madam, that if you stay as you are, I will not move a muscle." This comment is addressed to my chest. I take a minute to process what he's said. His pain glazed eyes are riveted to the opening of my shirt.

Taking stock of my outfit I realise that I am dressed lightly in britches and a loose shirt, my breasts bound by a cloth. Leaning over my patient has exposed a generous view of my breasts.

One of the hunting party guffaws at the comment and muffled snickers come from the rest of the men.

"My nut-brown forest maiden." His speech is slurring now and I snatch the bottle of spirits from his grasp and hand it to the nearest man who swigs from the bottle happily.

"I think, ser, that you will survive." I say tartly.

"You just wanted a pretty scar to show off to the ladies." A man steps into my sightline and I nearly stop breathing. I have never seen a man as beautiful as this. In the dim light of the room he had remained hidden in the shadows.

The nearby candles spark in his eyes like some predator just outside of the light. For all my blustering, I find myself now stuttering and frozen in place. His hair is flaxen and even in the darkness I appreciate how it falls carelessly into his eyes. He runs his fingers back through his fringe and flicks his eyes to the wounded man on the table.

Underneath the male bravado from his previous statement, I can see the slight panic in the quick flare of his nostrils.

I blink away the fog in my brain and get back to business.

"He should be kept here overnight and not moved for the next few days. I will attend him when he needs his dressings changed. You should be able to return home in a sennight."

"You can keep me in bed any day." My patient comments, nearly comatose and still mumbling innuendos. His comments interrupt the locked gaze with the blonde predator.

"Amen," mutters one of the men at my back and I glance back sharply to find him eyeing my ass. He raises his hands and eyebrows simultaneously but still wears his shit-eating grin when I glare at him.

I turn back towards the tall blonde. His eyes linger on my figure, travelling hotly from my hips up towards the collar of my loose shirt, finally resting on my flushed face.

"Zabini, Pucey, you'll stay with Potter. The rest of you prepare the horses, we return to the … estate." He nods at me again and passes towards the door, stopping to hand something to one of the men. He bows his head to speak with them, and I take note of how tall he is by comparison.

If not for the command of these men, he was still clearly their leader. He carried himself with a cat-like grace. His wide shoulders take up much of the doorway but his body is lithe. He glances back at me, pauses his eyes searching mine and then turns quickly to leave, his men following fast behind.

* * *

Later after I've gathered my things, I accept a mug of beer from Lavender who is making eyes at Zabini, the ass appreciator…

"Miss?" I turn from my observations to the other man, Pucey.

"For your troubles from his … lordship." He extends his hand discreetly to me while eyeing the other patrons. I take the small purse in hand and nod, not wanting to check what my services are worth, but recognizing the acknowledgment of my skills and time.

The patient, Potter, has been safely installed in one of the rooms upstairs and I take a moment to remind his companions to keep an eye on him in case he vomits in his sleep. He had imbibed more alcohol than was strictly necessary for pain relief.

I nod at Pucey as I leave and see Lavender has stationed herself on Zabini's lap to pour his wine…

Despite the late hour, I do not feel comfortable accepting a room for myself and instead settle into one of the inviting armchairs by the fire. I fall asleep almost instantly, sometimes I would love to have a quiet day with no drama. But what fun would that be.

* * *

AN: At last, a sighting of the illusive hunter prince! Review, review, review! #shameless


	8. The Patient

Disclaimer: I obviously own none of the rights to the Harry Potter universe or the cover image, but the plot is mine

* * *

The next morning, I am woken by someone prodding me with their foot. A mug of strong coffee is thrust under my nose and Pucey takes shape before my groggy eyes.

"Rise and shine sleeping beauty."

I grumble my discontent and rub my face tiredly. When I pull my hands away from my face I can see that I am covered in the soot from last night's fire. I guzzle the coffee quickly but am no more alert than a moment ago. I peer quickly around the room to gain my bearings.

Lavender appears bright and fresh nearby, perfectly coiffed and shining in the morning sunshine. She is pouring coffee into a couple of mugs and is far too chipper for the early hour. Her mother, Dahlia, ushers me aside and hands me a gown discretely.

"Here dear, always important to look your best…" She sighs as she runs her eyes over me and takes in my mussed appearance and general lack of personal grooming.

 _What is the use of saving lives when you aren't appealing to men?_ I think nastily and then remind myself that she is a different creature than Minerva and I. I accept the gown politely and she ushers to a spare room where she strips me brusquely and proceeds to squash every organ I once had. I am too dazed to put up much of a fight but I finally brush her off when she begins fussing around my head. I do not trust her to style my hair, even I rarely have enough patience to wrestle it into any kind of style.

Scrubbing my face in a nearby water basin, I glance into the looking glass. Bright eyes, tanned freckled skin and a heaving next of runaway curls. I am as presentable as I'm likely to get. I brush aside the thought that I have taken extra care in case I see _him._

I step back into the main room, snagging my bag as I pass and make my way up the staircase to the second level rooms, intent on finding my patient.

I find Potter's room where he is dozing in the morning sunshine. The dust motes are disturbed when I enter the room disturbing this peaceful sanctuary. But his jet hair is mussed from tossing and turning in the night. I warrant he is in pain based on the line forming between his eyes and the slight frown in his sleep.

I pour a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table and turn as Pucey enters silently behind me.

"A few drops milk of the poppy will help the pain when he wakes," I supply when he eyes the vial distrustfully. He moves further into the room without a word and situates himself in the only chair to keep an eye on the proceedings.

I place the water and vial on the table again and step towards the bed. Potter appears to remain sleeping and I reach forward to flick aside his long nightshirt and peer closely at the wound on his thigh. Pulling back the dressing I see that while slightly inflamed, the colour of the skin is good, and I prod gently to make sure his circulation is unharmed. I have leeches just in case but not maggots for cleaning the dead skin if required.

"I don't think I've ever met anyone so underwhelmed by my … dishabille." I stumble away from him wide eyed, caught in very close proximity to his _equipment_ and distracted by my inner thoughts.

Pucey snickers behind me, having been silent otherwise.

"Mr. Potte -, " I stutter.

"Harry, please. If you are going to be that well acquainted with my body, we can at least use our first names."

He raises his eyebrows inquiringly while levering his body up to lean against the headboard.

"Hermione." I gesture meekly at myself by way of introduction.

"I don't remember you being this shy last night." He wiggles his eyebrows salaciously at me and I begin to laugh.

"Now I'm genuinely hurt – emotionally that is!" He is laughing though, which belies his statement.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Harry!" I am laughing near uncontrollably now, the stress of the previous day and the lack of proper sleep has made me giddy. I have the strange feeling that our souls have known each other forever. Despite his ridiculous teasing, I am instantly at ease.

I give him a fake once over with my eyes.

"It's not that you aren't the most beautiful man I've ever seen, … those dark lashes, moss green eyes..." I trail off teasingly beginning to fan myself coyly with my hand as he pretends to preen on the bed.

Pucey eyes us both strangely, not understanding the joke and shakes his head.

"Pucey, you daft bastard, help me up for a piss so I don't have to traumatize the lady."

I flush but step aside so Pucey can help Harry off the bed, moving towards the chamberpot in the corner. "I've seen most everything you have to offer sir, and I find it …lacking."

Harry stops and clutches his heart as if wounded before turning to relieve himself.

"She's got you figured out Potter."

I whip around, nearly colliding with the figure in the doorway.

Large hands steady my hips and hold me only slightly away from his body.

 _Him._

I inhale without intending to, and quickly catalogue the smells. Leather. Horse. Sandalwood and something else I can't quit name. _Intoxicating._

I don't know how long I've been speechless in his arms but Pucey has helped Harry back to the bed. I, however, am hyper-focused on the hands as they slowly travel up my hips to my waist.

I step out of his embrace belatedly and avoid eye contact, though I can feel his gaze on me as I move back towards the bed.

"Three drops of the poppy milk and a glass of water to wash it down." I am back to nursing mode and busy myself with tending Harry. He grumbles jokingly, and accepts the vial and glass before following my orders.

"She's bossy! You should add her to your house guard, Malfoy. She'll have the gents in line before you can blink!" Harry jokes looking across the small room and over my shoulder.

Malfoy hasn't moved from the doorway. As I turn, his eyes are still fixed on me, but they flick to Harry in acknowledgement.

"Though she be little, she is fierce." His eyes spark as they connect with mine, and his lips quirk into a wry smile.

"Nothing but 'low' and 'little' - ?" I volley back without thinking. My quick mouth supplying the next Shakespearean line. His grin widens and he moves a single step in my direction. I have piqued his interest. He is holding himself back but speaks softly. "An educated wood-mouse."

My eyes shutter with anger and my spine stiffens. For a moment, I thought he recognized me as a kindred spirit, a fellow intellectual. Instead I am a novelty. A peculiarity in the form of an educated woman.

I retreat a step towards the bed, turning towards Harry to complete my nursing responsibilities.

"Three drops a day with water, every six hours if you can't bear it," I start, tapping the glass vial to remind him. "And no more or you'll be no good to anyone." I raise my eyebrows at this last part and Harry watches me momentarily, sliding his gaze to Malfoy and back to me before nodding his understanding. He is clearly sensing the awkward shift in the room but thankfully doesn't acknowledge the change.

I snag my bag from the floor and make my way towards the doorway, nodding at Malfoy and Pucey while avoiding their eyes.

I release a long breath as I make my way down the small hallway and towards the staircase. So much for true love.

A rough hand snags my wrist, and I whip around startled at the forward behaviour.

"I – I meant no offense." His eyes are a mix of ethereal glacier blue and gunmetal grey. I blink away my stupor and take a second to recall that I am furious.

"Then perhaps you should have kept your mouth shut. And you can keep your hands to yourself!" I snap at him before I can rein myself in.

He rears back slightly, eyes darkening angrily and clearly unaccustomed to being spoken to in this manner.

"You are – "

"What I am, is none of your concern." I will shut down this interaction before any silly notion or romance continues to go to my head. "You can have your own doctor tend to Harry when you return home, surely."

I storm down the stairs, making a bit of a spectacle in the main room of the inn. A couple day-drinkers stare blearily after me. I reach for the main door and pull it open before Lavender rushes towards me whispering harshly. "Hermione! You can't speak to him like that, do you have any idea who that is!?"

"I couldn't give a flying fig is he was king of the whole damned realm!"

"Well since you mention it…"

* * *

*ducks for cover* I promise I'm working on it - stay tuned! Always interested in hearing plot suggestions/desires and working them in where possible!


	9. A Meeting

Disclaimer: I obviously own none of the rights to the Harry Potter universe or the cover image, but the plot is mine

* * *

 _"_ _I couldn't give a flying fig is he was king of the whole damned realm!"_

 _"_ _Well since you mention it…"_

 _._

 _._

His words are left hanging in the air.

I freeze the moment before I barrel out the inn door. He can't possibly be serious. But then I've already gone this far… I spin around to face him.

He is only a few steps away and I can see the glimmer of amusement and victory in his eyes. His lips quirk and he raises one finely arched eyebrow, inviting my curiosity… and my wrath.

"He's _the_ prince." Lavender sighs from next to me not taking her eyes from him. He cuts a dashing figure in the morning light. His otherworldly light hair, sharp cheekbones, a long, muscled body… stop. If I have just insulted him, he's less likely to kiss me with those cupid's bow lips and more likely to have me charged with treason.

"One of many lords, I can assure you, I just happen to be closer to the throne than most." He doesn't look away from me and I am caught in his gaze, too mesmerized to notice he is creeping closer.

Should I curtsy? Kiss him? Slap him? I am torn between all three.

"Perhaps we can speak privately?" He says, reading the indecision on my face.

My anger fizzles temporarily and I am so tempted to reach out and take his inviting hand. But what kind of Pandora's box will it open? I am not fool enough to think that taking his hand, especially with so many villagers watching, will not change the life I lead.

Still, this is the adventure I have only read about in books, the real change I have been craving. Before I can second guess myself, I reach for his hand. The skin is surprisingly calloused and warm, his hand envelopes mine with a subtle squeeze.

"For your discretion." He says in a low voice to Lavender, catching her gaze and pressing a coin into her palm. He shepherds me out the door with the press of his body. He steps in forward leading me, my hand still tucked into his. I can see his head swivel and assess the quiet morning street. I can see Mrs. Fletcher at the end of the street feeding the chickens in her yard and the baker's wares have perfumed the air with their fresh yeasty smell.

I have become uncharacteristically meek after my decision and follow behind as he pulls me towards the stable. He gives the stable boy one scathing look which sends the child scrambling out of sight. He pulls be into the warmth of the stable and past several horse withers. The stable is clean but the thick animal smell envelopes my senses.

He turns then, and assesses me. I am slightly disheveled from our quick departure and the deep breaths have pushed my breasts high in Lavender's borrowed gown. To his credit, his gaze only lingers a moment before he turns to look into my eyes.

"I meant no offense, I was not prepared to encounter such an enigma when I entered Potters' room. Although I admit I did wish to see you again, you… enchant me."

My heart stutters for a moment, unused to such bluntness and certainly not this kind of open admiration.

His words strike a chord with me. I can't help feeling a little like an outcast again. I am tired of being an oddity. The townsfolk have long since accepted my help and presence over the years but I do not delude myself into thinking that I am entirely welcome. My position as midwife has provided entry into their lives but Minerva and I will always be 'other'.

"Little doe?" His words pull me from my musings.

"Little - ?" I am confused by the endearment and the softness of his tone.

"Your eyes, they are so wide and deep, like a little doe." His body sways towards me and the spell of our closeness is contagious. His gaze his heady. _Hungry._

I flush under his heated gaze but stay firm. "You do not know me – not a moment ago you thought my intelligence a novelty!" I begin, my anger returning and my body retreating, my hands still caught lightly in his grasp.

"But I want to know you!"

"I do not care what you want!" _A lie._

There is a fine blush of frustration across his cheeks and his brow furrows.

"Please," the word looks unfamiliar to him. "Please give me a moment of your time, if only to thank you for saving my man." His face softens recalling the events which started our _acquaintance._

"But you've already paid me – Pucey left me a purse." _Translation: you owe me nothing._

"Potter is … he is one of my closest … friends. A purse is a small price to pay for his continued irritation in my life." I huff a laugh at him, softening.

His molten eyes spark and his smile widens. He flicks his gaze to my lips and my tongue unconsciously darts out to dampen my lips. _What is this heady madness_?

"Meet me," he rushes, "meet me in a week. I need more of you, your wit, your intoxicating, infuriating mind. I have to return to the… to my home. But I want to see you again."

"Yes," the word is a whispered rush on my breath before I've given it any thought.

His face brightens and then in the same moment he is kissing me, pulling me flush against him. His hands slide down my torso, one rests against my waist and the older clutches quickly at my backside, pulling me somehow closer to him.

I feel the heated press of his hands through my clothes and something harder through my skirts. I clutch at his shoulders and the rush of our heated words and this illicit and intoxicating feeling is too much. I pull back and feel the lingering tingle of his lips against mine. I am panting to catch my breath and torn between impropriety and the temptation of throwing myself back into his arms.

His hair is mussed, pupils blown wide and lips swelling from my assault – did I do that? "You are a revelation," he laughs, bending towards me again and swinging me around with the momentum of his lunge.

Something deep inside me calls for more.

* * *

Happy New Year! Yikes - time flies! I'm working on a loose plot for this before infilling, please review or submit something you'd like to see included (I'll do my best!) xo


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